


Bad Things Happen Bingo: TFP Edition

by DSK1138



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Angst, Buried Alive, Captivity, Explosions, Hostage Situations, Hurt No Comfort, Injury, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Whump, painful wound cleaning, warnings listed at each chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:47:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23473453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DSK1138/pseuds/DSK1138
Summary: I have 25 "bad things happen" prompts and so many wonderful characters to torment. Full angst ahead.
Relationships: Optimus Prime/Ratchet
Comments: 11
Kudos: 43





	1. Buried Alive: Soundwave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome! I like angst, I like robots, and this sounded like a nice way to blow off steam while I'm stuck in quarantine. Heed the tags. I'll post warnings in the notes of each chapter. Not ever chapter will be angst, some will have a fluffy spin to them.
> 
> This chapter contains what it says on the tin. Warning for buried alive.

_ Ten seconds. _ The air is musty with the smell of dirt. When his optics online, Soundwave thinks they’re broken, and then he realizes that wherever he is is pitch black. It takes him even longer to realize that his scanners aren’t dead. There’s just nothing  _ here _ for him to scan. He’s surrounded by nothingness.

_ Two minutes. _ He reminds himself to breathe. Where is he? He can’t recall how he got here. Where is here?

Metal beneath him, metal on both sides. He stretches a servo out to feel cool metal above him. He’s in some kind of box. Why? He wishes he could remember.

He needs to focus. He tries his comms and receives static. That’s fine. It’s fine. He has a homing beacon. Megatron will send someone for him. He’s too valuable to lose.

_ Ten minutes.  _ He checks his fuel levels. 42%. It will last him a while. He shuts down unnecessary functions, just in case.

_ One hour. _ His joints feel cramped. He tries not to think about it. He fails.

_ Two hours. _ He tries to think of something else. He makes a list of duties to complete when he returns. When those run out, he lists battles. When they took place in the war and who was involved. He has it all stored inside of him. Every piece of information about the Decepticon cause. He’s important. They’ll come for him.

_ Ten hours.  _ He recharges on and off. The air has grown stale. He has to turn off even more of his functions to keep his system from overheating.

_ Twenty hours.  _ They’ll find him. They’ll find him. He goes back into recharge.

_ Forty-two hours.  _ Soundwave has never considered himself a social mech, but he would give anything to see someone, anyone. He thinks first of Megatron, always the foundation that grounds him. But right now, he’d even settle for Starscream.

_ Fifty hours.  _ They’re talking to him. Megatron. Starscream. He can hear them bicker and argue like they always do, and if he pictures it hard enough, he’s back there on the Nemesis, typing away at his computer, monitoring surveillance. It never lasts, though.

_ Ninety hours _ . It’s gotten colder. The dead have awoken. A legion of ghosts returns to him, whispering. Every soldier he’s ever sent to die. Every gladiator he’s ever killed. Ravage. Frenzy. Rumble.  _ I’m sorry. Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me. _

_????  _ He had to turn off his chronometer. Knowing how much time has passed is driving him mad, and it’s not worth the energy.

_?????  _ They’ll come. They’ll come. They’ll come?

_???????  _ No no no no no no no no no no no no.

_????????????  _ He can’t take this anymore please please make it stop Primus make it stop anything is better than this he wants to die Primus make it stop.

_?  _ No one is coming for him. Even the dead have abandoned him. He’s trapped here until the end of time, and maybe even beyond that. He’s so tired. He just wants to recharge. Recharge is good. It will all be over soon.


	2. Forced to Kneel: Optimus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not many warnings for this chapter. What it says on the tin.

Optimus expects to be beaten. Tortured. Humiliated.

He’s brought to Megatron in chains. The warlord sits high above him on some sort of makeshift throne, smiling hungrily.

Optimus sets his jaw and meets his former friend’s optics. Megatron just laughs. Resistance is pointless. With one sentence, he can break Optimus.

“I’ll let them go if you do exactly as I say.”

He’s probably lying. He’s lied to Optimus too many times for him to trust Megatron’s word, but he can’t stop the doubt that pricks at his mind.  _ What if. _ He’d do anything to make sure his family is safe. Megatron has him right where he wants him.

“What do you want me to do?” His voice is steady, but on the inside he feels like he’s shattered into tiny shards.

Megatron laughs -- a cruel, ugly sound.

“Kneel, and show your submission to your new master.” Megatron’s grin is sharp. Predatory. “And Optimus,” he adds, as if he’s scolding a young child. “You’d better show me you mean it.”

There’s only a moment’s hesitation, and then Optimus slowly lowers himself to his knees. He dips his helm in deference, and somehow once again manages to speak without his voice shaking.

“I belong to you now,  _ master. _ ” The last word is spoken like a plea. He keeps his optics on the floor, pushing submission into his field, broadcasting it so that Megatron is left with no doubt.

“Good,” laughs Megatron. “Very good. This will be the start of a most enjoyable arrangement for the both of us.”

Optimus’s helm is still bowed, and Megatron doesn’t see the fire burning in his optics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to give a bit of hope there at the end. Joke's on Megatron if he thinks Team Prime won't put up a fight!


	3. Used as Bait: Bumblebee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not many warnings here. Mostly just Airachnid being slightly creepy.

“You were foolish to come here alone.”

As if he needs to be told. Bumblebee’s already caught in a web of regrets. Literally.

He can hear Airachnid pacing below him, but he can’t see her from where he’s hanging upside down, hopelessly tangled.

::She- she won’t come! This will never work!:: he lies.

“Oh honey, your friend is like clockwork. It’s worked every time before.” Her voice is above him this time, and he catches just a glimpse of her glowing purple optics before she moves again.

“Arcee!” she cries in a singsong voice. “I have something for you! He looks like he misses you.”

Bumblebee thrashes and twists, trying to break free, but his attempts are useless, and he only ends up more tangled.

::Don’t do this! Just take me, leave her alone!::

“I love the way you beg,” she whispers, and this time she’s right next to him, speaking softly into his audial. A clawed digit drags down his face, leaving behind a cut that drips energon onto the ground below him. His cry echoes through the trees around them.

“Let him go!” A voice demands.

_ No. _ No no no no no.

::Arcee, go! Leave me!::   
  
“Well, isn’t this precious?” Airachnid laughs. A cold blade presses to Bumblebee’s throat. “I could kill him right now, and you’re powerless to stop me.”

“Don’t you dare,” Arcee growls. Bumblebee has only heard her speak in that tone a handful of times. It’s the way she talks when she has everything to lose, and he realizes just how much Airachnid has underestimated her.

Before he or Airachnid know what is happening, there’s a flurry of motion. Airachnid screams, and Bumblebee hits the ground with a painful thud.

“We have to go!” Arcee shouts, and he’s jerked quickly to his pedes. He follows her lead. He doesn’t know where he is or where they’re going, just the need to  _ get away _ .

Before they’ve gotten too far out of sight, he tosses a glance over his shoulder and sees a pair of purple optics watching him in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always saw Bumblebee and Arcee having a sibling relationship. There will be a part 2 of this later on.


	4. Painful Wound Cleaning: Ratchet and Optimus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for injury, explosions, and patching a wound with no painkillers. But don't worry, there is also fluff involving gay old robots!

“You didn’t have to come with me, Optimus. I could have done this myself.”   
  
The shadow of the canyon stretches above Ratchet and Optimus as they step carefully around large stones scattered within its deeper parts. The sky above them burns with the vengeful orange of a desert sunset. It is, Ratchet hesitantly admits to himself, somewhat beautiful.

Still, he has things to do back at base. He can’t allow himself too long wandering the Nevada landscape, distress signal or not.

“I worry about sending anyone out alone right now. Megatron’s attacks have become increasingly aggressive lately,” Optimus answers in his rumbling baritone. “And besides,” his voice takes on a softer quality, “it is so rare that you and I can find time alone these days.”   
  
It’s true. Ratchet can’t even remember the last time it was just the two of them. The edges of his mouth turn up in a trace of a smile, but then a chime from his scanner catches his attention.

“We’re getting close. It should be right around here.”

They’ve reached a wider part of the canyon, with fewer rocks and obtrusions. It would be easier to go in their alt modes from here, but they remain on foot. It allows them to be more alert in case of ambush, and, Ratchet notes with a roll of his optics, it allows Optimus to walk too close to him, leaning into his personal space in a way that is obviously flirtatious.   
  
“Optimus, please. We’re here for a distress signal and I’ll not have some poor bot waiting around because you wanted to get in a few gropes.”

Optimus smiles innocently. He’s known Ratchet long enough to know that his tone is playful. He also knows that the particular signal used is an old frequency, one that hasn’t been used in ages. It’s more than likely a tech malfunction, otherwise he’d be a lot more concerned. It’s very rare that his playful side comes out these days, but Ratchet has a way of finding it in him.

“Ratchet,” he says in mock confusion. “I don’t understand what you mean. You would really accuse me of such lewdity?”

Ratchet scoffs, quickening his pace to walk ahead of Optimus.

“If you want to appreciate my frame, you can do so from behind me.” He sways his hips enticingly as he walks, demonstrating his attractive curves and shapely aft.

Optimus  _ does _ appreciate it, and he’s just about to say so when something beneath his pede clicks, and he feels the ground there depress slightly.

Ratchet turns to see what the noise is, and his optics go wide.   
  
“Optimus, don’t move!”   
  
But it’s too late. Optimus is already lifting his pede to investigate.

There’s a sound of thundering steps as Ratchet races towards him (that alone is a cause for concern, Ratchet never runs) and he feels the weight of Ratchets frame colliding into his, pushing them down to the ground just as an explosion rocks behind them. There’s a scorching heat and a ringing in his audials and then  _ blackness. _

~

Optimus comes to with a gasp. His audials are still ringing, enough that he can’t hear anything, but he’s aware of a heavy weight on top of him.  _ Ratchet _ .

“Ratchet! Can you hear me?” Optimus can barely hear his own voice, but he’s desperate for any kind of sign that Ratchet is ok. He breathes a sigh of relief when Ratchet stirs. Optimus can’t hear if he says anything, but the medic’s optics are clouded with pain.

They sit for a while like that, holding each other desperately, until finally the ringing fades enough for them to make out what the other is saying.   
  
“-ptimus? Optimus, are you ok?”

His systems are already running a diagnostic scan, and he gets a few warning pings, but nothing too bad, thankfully. The worst of it seems to be his left arm, which got burned in the blast.

He sits up enough to get a good look at Ratchet, who looks significantly worse. The medic is cradling an arm that is burned even worse than Optimus’s, and he’s leaking energon from his side. And that’s nothing compared to his  _ back _ , which is burned so much that bits of his protoform are peeking through scorched holes in his armor. Ratchet needs emergency medical attention  _ now _ .

“You’re hurt,” Optimus gasps.

“I know that!” Ratchet barks at him, but his response keens into a grunt of pain.

“We need to get you back to base as soon as possible.” Optimus tries to ignore the panic currently creeping into his spark.

“We can’t go anywhere. It’s a minefield. Megatron set up a  _ damn minefield _ .”

Optimus’s fist clenches. He feels so helpless in this situation, and he hates it.

Early on in the war, both sides had employed the use of destructive minefields. They were nearly impossible to detect on scanners, and one false distress signal or misleading sign of energon was enough to lure unsuspecting bots to their deaths. The casualties had been catastrophic, and even worse, entire worlds had been destroyed as the warring factions turned virtually the whole surface of the planet into a minefield.

Once he realized the damage it was causing, Optimus had come to his senses and forbidden his soldiers from using such despicable tactics. Even Megatron seemed to have sworn off using them, at least, until now.

“Optimus,” Ratchet’s voice pulls him out of his stupor. “I have emergency supplies in my subspace. I need you to do a procedure until the others are able to get to us.”

“Ratchet,” Optimus starts, his optics still wide with fear. He’s no medic. Though he has basic training in field medicine, his large hands make it difficult to perform more precise procedures. Here, however, he has no choice. Ratchet might not make it by the time help arrives. Once they contact their team, they’ll have to wait here for them to figure out a way to deactivate the mines, and that alone could take a long time.

“Tell me what I need to do.”

Ratchet helps him lay out all of the medical supplies from his subspace, which happens to be quite a bit, thankfully. There are bandages, disinfectant, a few simple tools, a small welder, and a cube of medical grade energon. Optimus looks it over while Ratchet contacts their team and explains what is going on, and he realizes, with a feeling of dread, there are no painkillers among the supplies.

“It’s going to be a while,” Ratchet sighs after he ends the call. “They’re bringing in Wheeljack. He has more knowledge about explosives than the rest of them.” Optimus can imagine so… he’s heard many colorful stories about Wheeljack’s Wrecker days.

“Ratchet,” he interrupts. “There are no painkillers.”

Ratchet shutters his optics, processing what this will entail for him.

“I can take it,” he says, trying to hide the tremble in his voice. “I’ve had worse.”

Optimus’s hand reaches for Ratchet’s, giving a light squeeze.

“I’ll be gentle,” he promises.

“I know you will.” Ratchet offers half of a reassuring smile. “Well, let’s get this over with. My systems indicate there are fragments of the mine stuck in some of the protoform on my back. I’ll need you to dig them out. It could cause infection if it’s left in for too long.”

Optimus’s vents stutter.  _ Primus _ . But he doesn’t argue as Ratchet turns so that his back is facing Optimus. Carefully, as if it might suddenly transform into a scraplet and attack them, he lifts up a pair of tweezers from Ratchet’s tools.

“Tell me if you need me to stop.”

Ratchet nods, gritting his dentae. They both know he won’t say anything. It’s better to get the worst of it over fast, instead of drawing it out.

Somehow managing to keep his hand steady, Optimus reaches up, gripping at one of the larger pieces of metal with the tweezers. Ratchet gasps in pain, causing Optimus to instinctively pull away.   
  
“Keep going,” Ratchet grunts, and the pain in his voice makes Optimus’s spark throb.

Despite that, he does as Ratchet says, pulling out piece after piece of shrapnel while the medic cries out softly beneath him. He  _ hates _ this, hates seeing Ratchet in pain and not being able to stop it.

Ratchet clenches his fist in the dirt, trying not to let it show how much pain he’s in. His entire back is burning, his scorched circuits ablaze with sheer agony as piece by piece of metal is pulled out of him. He manages to keep most of his cries quiet, but one particular piece is embedded in a nerve circuit, and that causes him to scream when it’s pulled out. Behind him, Optimus falters.  _ Not yet, my love! We’re almost done. _

“You’re d-doing gr-great,” Ratchet says, hating how pathetic his trembling voice sounds right now. “Just a f-few more.”

Coolant is spilling from his optics, even as he squeezes them shut. A few more pieces are removed, and finally, mercifully, he counts the last one.

Optimus immediately lays down the tool. He wants nothing more than to wrap Ratchet in a tight embrace, but instead, he reaches around to take the medic’s chin, turning his helm to look at him. Ratchet’s optics are pooling with tears, and the sight breaks Optimus’s spark.   


“You’re so brave, old friend,” he says, leaning forward to place a feather light kiss on his medic’s cheek.

He pulls out some bandages and the disinfectant. “Almost done. Let me patch you.”

Ratchet nods, turning back around. The disinfectant stings, but it’s nothing compared to the pain from before. Optimus is as gentle as possible as he places bandages over the wounds.

While he works, Ratchet’s gaze wanders up to the sky above the canyon. The sun has long since set, and the first few stars are winking through the inky sky as darkness sets in. None of these constellations are familiar to him, and an old pang of homesickness stirs in his chest.

He and Optimus used to drive out to the less populated areas of Cybertron, back when they had time, to escape the lights of the city so they could gaze at the stars and galaxies above them. They’d lay there for hours, mapping out every constellation, and sometimes, mapping out each other’s bodies instead.

“What do you see?” Optimus asks softly.

“I see a sky I don’t recognize, above an unfamiliar world where we’ll never belong,” Ratchet sighs.

“Hmm.” Optimus takes a moment to think. “That’s funny. I see the handsomest and bravest mech I’ve ever known.”

He leans over Ratchet, drawing him into a deep kiss. They stay like that for several minutes, unmoving. Any pain they’re in is insignificant. The only sensation that matters is the press of lips and the taste of each other.

“If you wanted to get me alone, you could have just asked, instead of dragging me all the way out here,” Ratchet whispers when they part.

“This wasn’t part of the plan,” Optimus says, “but I know how to improvise.”

Ratchet leans back, and, taking heed not to jostle his injuries, rests his helm in Optimus’s lap.

“You really know how to make the best of a bad situation.”

They stay like that until their comrades arrive, holding each other under the stars. Whatever pain they might undergo, they still have each other. The war hasn’t taken that from them, and Optimus swears right there under a foreign sky that he’ll do everything in his power to keep it that way.


End file.
